


Get a Bucket and a Mop

by QueerOnTilMorning



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Richie Tozier, Come Eating, Comeplay, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26906920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerOnTilMorning/pseuds/QueerOnTilMorning
Summary: Eddie comes home early from a work trip and catches Richie in a compromising position.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 37
Kudos: 324





	Get a Bucket and a Mop

Eddie’s last meeting in Chicago is canceled, so he decides  _ fuck it, _ and changes his flight. He will absolutely and categorically deny ever having a thought this sappy, but he’d rather not sleep apart from Richie one more night if he doesn’t have to.

He doesn’t call to tell Richie he’ll be home early. His flight will land in LA well past Richie’s usual bedtime. If Richie knows Eddie’s coming, he’ll wait up, but Eddie likes the idea of surprising him by crawling in beside him, warm and heavy with sleep. Maybe for a moment Richie will think Eddie is a dream.

God, that’s some goofy romantic Ben Hanscom-ass shit. When did he become this person?

When the cab drops him off in front of their house, Eddie sees that the light in the front room is on. His heart pangs. Of course Richie’s fallen asleep on the couch watching TV. He does that often when he’s home by himself. He’s like a giant teenager, and there’s no reason in the world that should make Eddie feel so goddamn  _ tender. _

As he unlocks the door, he realizes that he’s wrong. The TV isn’t on; instead, there’s music blasting from the kitchen. Eddie rolls his eyes. Richie has  _ got _ to be the only forty-year-old man in the known universe who dances to “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom” while making a midnight snack. He drops his suitcase on the floor--after months of living together, Richie has finally sold Eddie on the merits of a good night’s sleep before unpacking--and follows the sound.

Only to discover that he’s wrong again.

Richie is not pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Instead, he’s on the floor on his hands and knees, his entire ass pointing directly at Eddie.

He’s a stunning sight. His hair is pulled back in an attempt at a half-ponytail, falling out around his face in sweaty locks. His tank top is mostly arm holes. He’s wearing boxer briefs that can barely contain the generous circumference of his thighs, much less the bulge of his cock hanging heavy between them; it’s almost more lewd than if he were naked.

Eddie wonders for a moment if he’s actually here, or if he fell asleep on the plane and is having an absurdly horny dream. Some of the details are incongruous for a fantasy. There’s a bucket next to Richie, and the room smells like lavender and bleach. Then, finally, he puts it together. Richie is  _ scrubbing the floor. _ It’s the middle of the night, and as far as he knows Eddie comes back tomorrow, and the man is shaking his ass and singing along with Selena and  _ cleaning. _

Eddie is going to fuck every last brain cell out of him.

“Jesus Christ, Rich,” he says, his voice thick.

Richie startles and almost spills his bucket, leaping to his feet. “Eds! Holy shit, I didn’t know you were--I’m sorry, I meant to--”

Eddie takes a step toward him. “What…” Breathe, he reminds himself. “Baby, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Richie says again. “I wanted everything to be nice and clean when you got back. I thought you were coming home tomorrow.”

“Sorry?” Eddie’s tie is fucking strangling him. It’s so goddamn hot in here, does Richie have the thermostat turned up to ninety? “Why are you sorry?”

“Are you pissed?” Richie looks confused. Then, finally, he looks at Eddie and  _ sees _ him--sees his red face, his dark eyes, the extremely obvious bulge in his pants from his  _ agonizing _ hard-on. Realization dawns.

“Oh my God,” he says, delighted.

“Shut up,” Eddie growls. Another step and he’s got his hands on Richie’s hips.

“Oh my God, you’re  _ into _ this. Me doing housework is like a total fucking sex dream for you, isn’t it? Oh my God, your dick is so hard right now--”

Before he can burst out laughing, Eddie shoves his tongue into his mouth.

“Mmm,” Richie sighs, wisecracks forgotten. Eddie’s embarrassed by how easily Richie gets to him, it’s true, but it helps to know that his own effect on Richie is just as powerful. Richie’s cock is thickening fast inside those frankly sordid briefs. Eddie cups it in his hand and squeezes, sucking hard on Richie’s lower lip at the same time.

"Eds, what the fuck?" Richie asks.

"This is how you clean the house?" Eddie asks, baffled and amazed. Richie's tank top gapes open, its low neckline showing most of his hairy chest. Eddie yanks it down farther and tongues at his nipple. "You look like a fucking slut."

Richie groans, half lust and half indignation. Maybe sixty/forty. "Well, how the fuck do you dress to scrub the floor?" He wraps Eddie's tie around his hand and drags him back into a kiss, open-mouthed and filthy. "In your goddamn tailored suit with your stupid little sock garters? Take this  _ off-- _ " He's unbuttoning Eddie's shirt and tearing it open, but Eddie still has his blazer on, so things get a little tangled for a moment. Then Eddie's shirtless and gasping with Richie's big, hot hand down his pants.

"Missed you," Eddie says roughly.

"Even though I'm a fucking slut?"

"Because you're a slut." He licks up Richie's neck and behind his ear. "I missed your hands, and your fucking _ mouth, _ and the way your eyes water when you're swallowing my cock…"

"What else?" Richie prompts. In case it's not clear what he's insinuating, he takes Eddie's hand and guides it around to his back, shoves it down the waistband of his underwear.

"God, yeah, I missed this ass." He digs his nails into the meat of it, savoring Richie's answering whine. "Can I--"

"Yes, fuck yes, please, Eds."

Eddie's finger slides easily into Richie's hole. "Oh, you hot  _ bitch, _ " he moans. "You're fucking loose. Did you already fuck yourself today?"

"Yeah," Richie says eagerly. "Missed you too much, couldn't help it."

"With your fingers?" Eddie asks, already knowing the answer.

"Wasn't enough," says Richie. "I needed the dildo."

"Yeah? Were you thinking about me, pretending it was my cock stretching you out?" He adds a second finger as he says it, so Richie's affirmative response tapers off into a wanton groan.

"Always you," Richie says. "You know I have a one-track dick."

"I bet you looked so fucking hot with that toy up your ass," Eddie sighs. “Did you come? All over yourself like a desperate fucking whore?”

“Yeahhhhh.” Richie fucks back against Eddie’s hand, trying to take his fingers deeper. “I can come again, though.”

“I know you can, baby.” Eddie’s whole body is thrumming. He’s so hard he’s  _ dizzy. _ For most of his adult life Eddie thought he had a low sex drive. That’s hilarious to recall now, in between regularly losing his entire fucking mind with the desperate need to tear Richie apart like a rare steak and lick up every drop.

He drags Richie’s underwear down and drops it on the (spotless) kitchen floor, then kneels. Richie makes a deep, wordless sound as Eddie gazes up at him, taking in the sweaty tank top he’s still wearing, his big thighs opening slightly for easier access, his cock rising out of a dense patch of dark curls.

He’s so fucking beautiful Eddie could cry.

"I love you," he says, and just as Richie's eyes light up Eddie takes his dick all the way to the back of his throat.

"Oh Jesus," Richie chokes. He's so vocal during sex; Eddie has come to crave the running commentary, the ongoing soundtrack of his appreciation. If he weren't already rock hard, the sound of Richie's whimpers and curses would get him there fast. Not to mention the way Richie's cock fills out in his mouth, heavy on his tongue. Eddie pulls off to suck gently at the head, then swallows Richie down again, making an obscene sound that he knows Richie adores. "Eds, Eds, oh fuck, babe."

Eddie circles Richie's hole with his fingers, then eases them back inside. "I'm gonna fuck you," he says roughly, his lips brushing against the ridge of Richie's cock. "You can't wiggle your ass at me like that and expect me not to fuck you."

"I wasn't wiggling my ass at you," Richie protests. "I was literally cleaning. I wasn't even  _ thinking _ about sex." He rocks his hips languidly, riding Eddie's hand. "Don't let that stop you from fucking me, though."

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He gives the head a last, teasing lick, then kisses his way up Richie’s body until they’re standing face-to-face again. Well, face-to-jaw. Eddie is the perfect height to drag his tongue over the rough stubble on Richie’s neck. “I want you on your hands and knees, just like you were when I walked in. Can you do that?”

“Fuck yes.” Richie drops to the floor eagerly. He’s still wearing that ridiculous tank top--it’s fucking lime green on top of everything else--and somehow that makes the sight of him even more lurid. Eddie takes a moment to appreciate it. “C’mon, babe, I’m ready.”

“Just a second,” Eddie says. He grabs the cushions off two of their dining room chairs, gives one to Richie to arrange beneath his knees, then kneels on the other. There’s a mini bottle of lube in the kitchen junk drawer; a few months of living together have taught them both that it’s prudent to keep one in every room of the house. Eddie’s quick and efficient as he slicks up his own cock and Richie’s clenching, yearning asshole.

They both sob as Eddie pushes inside. No matter how many times he does this, the tight, hot grip of Richie’s body never stops feeling like a revelation. He can feel how bad Richie wants him, how he sighs with satisfaction when Eddie is buried as deep as he can go. It never ceases to amaze him that Richie loves being fucked this much. Being fucked by  _ Eddie, _ specifically.

He wants to say something beautiful and poetic about how well they fit together, but he’s about eight seconds away from completely losing control, so what comes out is “God, Rich, I want to come in your ass.”

“Jesus, fuck, yeah, Christ,” Richie groans, every word punctuated by him rocking back on his hands and knees, practically bouncing on Eddie’s cock. “Fuckin’ fill me up, babe.”

Eddie reaches around to grab Richie’s dick, jerking in rhythm to the thrusting of his hips. “I’m gonna come so hard you’ll fuckin’ taste it,” he promises. “I’m gonna come in you so deep I’ll be dripping out of you for a week.”

But Richie is the one who comes first, throwing back his head and roaring as he spurts over Eddie’s fist and onto the floor. Eddie slows his pace but doesn’t stop, murmuring “Yeah, love, just like that” as he fucks Richie with long, smooth strokes.

"Oh my God," Richie says, gasping like he's run a marathon. His body goes pliant under Eddie's, head hanging down between his forearms. At some point his hair slipped out of its ponytail, and now it's just a sweaty, chaotic mess.

Eddie puts a hand on Richie's back, feels his heart hammering. "Should I pull out?"

"No, I'm good, just--give me a sec." He rolls his neck, then chuckles. "So much for my nice clean floor."

Eddie follows Richie's gaze to the come that splatters the tile like an abstract painting. The sight sparks a sudden, almost unbearable rush of desire. "Oh, fuck," Eddie says, gritting his teeth. "Richie--"

"Yeah?" Tentatively, Richie begins to rock on Eddie's dick again.

Eddie squeezes Richie's shoulder and breathes through the pleasure threatening to overwhelm him. "You should clean that up."

"I will," Richie promises, but Eddie cuts him off.

"No, baby. Now." 

"What--"

"You got this floor clean enough to eat off, didn't you?" He hears Richie's sharp inhale. "Yeah. Show me."

Richie glances over his shoulder. Eddie is prepared to back off in an instant if he sees reluctance, but all Richie's face reveals is slack-jawed, dark-eyed lust.

"You're fucking unbelievable, Eds," he rasps. "I want to marry you."

"You already married me," Eddie reminds him. "Clean up that mess."

Richie lowers his head slowly, not as though he’s hesitating but as though he’s enjoying the moment. Eddie wills himself to keep still, though every nerve in his body is screaming, dancing with fire and desperate for release. He holds tight to Richie’s hips as Richie drags his tongue across the come-streaked tile.

“God, that’s filthy,” Eddie groans. “Fucking look at you.” Richie arches back against him but keeps lapping at the floor. Eddie takes it as encouragement and ventures a slow, shallow thrust. “Is this okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Richie pushes his hips back harder, taking more of Eddie’s cock. From the way his muscles clench, Eddie knows he’s oversensitive, but if he’s not stopping, Eddie won’t be the one to stop him. The sight of Richie with his tongue out, cheeks flushed, licking his own come off their kitchen floor, makes him feel absolutely fucking rabid.

At last he allows himself to plunge into Richie the way he wants to,  _ needs _ to. “Fuck,” Eddie gasps. “Richie, fuck, you’re so-- I’m gonna--” Richie fucks him back just as hard, like he wants it just as bad. Their bodies crash into each other, racing toward an impossible precipice, and Eddie hangs on the edge for as long as he can stand before he falls over it and shatters ecstatically into dust.

They lie in a puddle on the kitchen floor, holding each other and trying to remember how to breathe normally. “Holy fuck,” Richie says after a while. “I’m gonna clean the house more often.”

“My devious plan is working,” Eddie says, nuzzling his shoulder.

“Glad you’re home,” Richie says. “But you really were supposed to come back tomorrow, weren’t you? Or did I have it wrong in my calendar?”

Eddie kisses him. “I didn’t want to go to bed without you in my arms,” he says, worn out and sated enough to be honest. His knees hurt, but he’s the happiest he can ever remember being.

“Bed,” says Richie. “Now there’s an idea.”

“I should shower first,” Eddie says.

Richie flashes him a huge smile. “Oh, I cleaned the shower, too. You’re gonna love it.”

“I do  _ not _ have the energy--” Eddie starts, as Richie laughs and helps him to his feet.

“It’s okay,” he says. “You can express your appreciation in the morning. Right now, let’s just rinse you off and get some sleep. How does that sound?”

Eddie gazes at Richie, loving him so goddamn much his heart might explode. “That sounds perfect.”


End file.
